


and no one else

by icarusandtheson



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, Gen, M/M, pre-Alex/George
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23304331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusandtheson/pseuds/icarusandtheson
Summary: Eliza Schuyler's first solo album has eleven songs on it. She sends the twelfth to the man she wrote it about.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton/George Washington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	and no one else

**Author's Note:**

> in which alex and eliza are both young, rising star singer-songwriters who kind of, briefly, and disastrously dated until it became apparent that alex's attention was, as always, more on his work -- and on who he wanted to impress with it. this takes place after the sting has faded a little.

Alex takes a minute to collect his thoughts after the audio is finished playing. He’s fine -- he’s surprised by how fine he is, actually, but there’s still a bruise behind his ribs, aching and guilty, that needs a minute to dull. So he gives himself the minute, and then he picks up his phone. 

**To Eliza Schuyler:** Are you still up?

For a moment he thinks she must already be asleep -- or maybe she’s ignoring him. Fair, honestly. He’s considering whether or not a replay is a good idea when his phone starts to vibrate, her name flashing on the screen. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi,” Eliza says. Faint surprise, there, bruising in its own way. “You didn’t have to listen to it right away.” 

“I wanted to,” he says. “It’s good. It’s really good.”

“I know,” Eliza says. Then, like she can’t help it, polite to a fault: “Thank you.”

“You should put it on the album.”

“Angelica said the same thing.”

Alex huffs a laugh. “Of course she did.”

“I won’t,” Eliza says. “If you’re worried.”

“You should,” he repeats. A long pause. “I would.”

“I know you would.” No judgement there. No surprise, either. It stings about as much as it’s supposed to. “If the album does well, I don’t want it to be because everyone wants to know about my personal life, or about you. I want it on my own terms.”

“I get that.”

Eliza makes a soft sound, muffled through the phone. “Yeah, I thought you might.”

Alex picks at the couch cushion, can’t drag his eyes up even though Eliza isn’t even here for him to look at.

“Yours is good too,” she says after a moment. “Your new stuff. I caught the teaser on Instagram, it’s… different.”

“Didn’t you unfollow me?” Alex asks, sidesteps the praise because he’s never really known what to do with Eliza’s kindness. “I could’ve sworn somebody wrote a whole article about it online.”

“We all make bad decisions at two in the morning,” she says drily.

“Needed to see my smug face to motivate you to finish the song?”

“Something like that,” she says, and there’s a little laugh to it that wasn’t there before. Alex smiles despite himself. “You’ve been posting a lot less on it lately.”

“That shit’s not good for your brain.”

“I distinctly remember telling _you_ that.”

“Yeah, well. I’m a little slow on the uptake sometimes. I think you told me that, too.”

“You look happy,” she says. The laugh has dropped out of her voice: just aching sincerity in its place now. “In the pictures, I mean.” 

Alex shrugs, then realizes it’s not audible, says, “Yeah.” He can hear the obvious question hanging in the quiet, waits for it. 

“The guitar was a surprise, I didn’t know you were learning,” Eliza says, which is maybe a more subtle version of the question, maybe just the polite kind of smalltalk you roll out with an almost-ex at one in the morning. He doesn’t know, and maybe it doesn’t matter so much anymore, that he can’t read her tone. 

“Something new, I guess,” he says. He considers leaving it at that, but that would imply there’s something to leave out -- there’s not. “George is teaching me.”

A pause. “Washington?” 

“Yeah. He’s taking a break from his own stuff, so he’s been helping me out on a few songs.”

“So you changed your mind about working with him?”

“Apparently. I have a big enough fan base at this point, hopefully nobody thinks I’m using him for clout -- not that it matters what they think, I guess. It’s fun, that’s probably what matters.”

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, the tease gentle, careful, like she’s not sure that it’s welcome. “Since when do you not care about public approval?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I’m guessing it has nothing to do with finally working with your hero.” 

He winces. “Let’s not.”

Eliza hums, quietly amused. “Seriously, though. I’m happy for you.” She probably is, too. God. 

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

Another pause, longer than the last. It’s not as painfully awkward as it could be. That counts for something, probably. 

He says, “It’s late, I should let you go. I just wanted to tell you about the song.”

“Thank you. I’m glad it wasn’t -- I’m glad you’re not hurt. I didn’t want that.”

“I’m fine,” he says, as reassuring as he knows how to be. He knows he deserves a lot worse than three and a half minutes of stinging regret. “If you want -- I know when the album launches you’ll be insanely busy, but if you ever want to grab a coffee or something, let me know.” He stares at the ceiling, thinks this was so much easier when he just slid into autopilot, slick smiles and words that tripped off his tongue and didn’t mean anything at all. It was so much easier when she was just the pretty middle daughter of the head of a big record label. 

Eliza makes a soft sound, saves him from himself again, maybe for the last time. “I’d like that.” He doesn’t know if she means it or not, and he’s not sure that it matters. It feels good to hear, at least. 

“Congratulations on everything. You’re gonna kill the whole solo act.”

“Thank you.” A pause where he’s sure she’s going to say something, but then: “Take care of yourself, Alex.”

“Yeah, you too.” 

He stares at the phone for a while, feels the vague stirrings of a headache coming on. He lets himself feel it, and picks up the phone again. 

**To George Washington:** I think I want to restructure the chorus again 

He sets his phone down, flinches at the vibration a moment later. 

**From George Washington:** Absolutely not. 

**From George Washington:** Please tell me you haven’t been awake all this time writing. 

**To George Washington:** I haven’t. I promised, didn’t I?

 **From George Washington:** Are you alright?

Alex types his answer, deletes it, tries again -- he thinks of the stupid three dots on George’s screen, how he’s going to know Alex is struggling, and tells himself to just fucking commit to an answer. 

His screen lights up. He lets out a breath, shakier than he expected, and swipes his thumb across the screen. 

“Hey.”

**Author's Note:**

> *thanks for reading! leave a kudos and comment if you liked it!  
> *find me on tumblr at [icarusandtheson](https://icarusandtheson.tumblr.com/)


End file.
